Despite his own family’s misfortunes, such as the impending death of his father, Anthony felt sorry for Ezra and his sisters. They, after all, had lost both parents in a matter of days. When Katy came downstairs, Anthony was struck by her appearance. Her hair was that same flaming red as her mother’s had been and she had filled out a little since he had last seen her in the late summer of 1865. When the sisters learned of their father’s death, they were inconsolable with grief and Anthony thought that it might be in poor taste to try and renew his acquaintance just yet a while with the girl he held such a torch for.
After binding up Andy’s arm as best he could there, Anthony thought it would be decent of them to withdraw and leave Ezra and his sisters to their mourning. It was at this point that three men rode up with a thunder of hooves and after reining in, demanded that Anthony and Andrew should throw down their weapons.
After besting the four comancheros, it was something of a shock to discover that the fighting might not yet be over. Fortunately, Ezra handled the situation firmly, saying to the newcomers, “Put up your guns, you damned fools. These men are friends of mine.”
“We heard shootin’,” explained one of the men, “Second lot we heard tonight and thought as we might be needed.”
“It’s good of you boys to come here like this and I’m right grateful,” declared Ezra, “But we’ve dealt with the trouble.”
One of the riders, who had come riding from the bunkhouse, looked over to the house and saw the corpses laying where they had been killed. He said, “What’s to do? I thought your pa had hired guns. They didn’t come to your aid?”
“They’re laying there,” said Ezra briefly, “Me and these fellows had a little misunderstanding with them.”
The man gave a low whistle. “You killed ’em all? Won’t your pa be vexed ’bout that?”
Not feeling called upon to set out all his family business just then, Ezra contented himself with saying, “Like I say, I’m grateful to you all for coming by, but we won’t keep you any longer now. Thanks again.”
Taking the hint, the men left. Anthony and Andrew mounted up and Ezra came over to them. He said, “What’s happened before this night is finished with. But I tell you boys now, I’m eternally grateful as you both consented to ride out here with me. It won’t be forgot. Give my regards to your ma and pa and tell ’em as things are going to be different now.”
The brothers rode home at a leisurely trot, Andrew not wanting to jolt his injured arm about over-much. When once they had taken their leave of Ezra and were out of earshot, Anthony remarked, “Well things didn’t take the turn I expected tonight and that’s a fact.”
“You’re the hell of a shot with a pistol,” said his brother, “Pa said that you would be, after the war and all, but I never saw the like.”
“It was close-range work,” said Anthony dismissively, “You couldn’t have missed either at that distance.”
“It ain’t just the matter of not missing,” Andrew said shrewdly, “It was the speed of the thing. You shot those two men down quick as blinking. Suppose they’d meant us no harm? You never even stopped to parley, nor nothing. Just killed ’em dead.”
“It was life and death for us. I killed men before by mistake, it happens when you live by your gun.”
“I couldn’t have done it.”
Anthony said nothing for a space and then observed, “I wonder how long this sweet new friendship‘ll last with the Doolans?”
“We always got on well enough ‘til Pa fell out with Mr Doolan. I got no quarrel with Ezra and Joe.”
It was good to get back to their own house, although as they drew nigh to it, both men recollected that their father was probably at the point of death. Then too, there was Jack’s death, which neither of them, in all the action that night, had yet had time to come to terms with. They turned out the horses after untacking them and then went to see how things were. Tom was sitting in the kitchen. He said, “Ma chased me out and told me that she wanted some time by her own self with Pa. I been sitting here pretty well since you fellows left.”
“I’m going to look in on Pa before I turn in,” said Anthony, “I’ll see you both in the morning.”
There was no response to his tentative tapping on his parents’ bedroom door and so, very carefully, lest they were both asleep, Anthony Armstrong eased open the door and peeked around it. His mother had seemingly fallen asleep while watching over her husband. She was laying, sprawled across the bed; her arms around Seth Armstrong. Anthony paused for a moment to drink in the scene. Despite the tragedy of the thing, with his father likely to die before too much longer, there was something touching about the tableau. He had not the least doubt that his mother and father both loved each other now as much as they had over thirty years ago, when first they had met.
It was a pity to disrupt such a charming arrangement, but it struck Anthony that his mother would benefit from a proper night’s sleep and that she would feel like the Devil tomorrow, if she spent the night like that, stretched awkwardly across the bed. He accordingly entered the room quietly and touched his mother on the shoulder, hoping to awaken her. There was no response and it was at that same moment that he was aware that his father’s chest was not rising and falling. Anthony reached out his hand and found that his father was so cool to the touch that he was without doubt dead.
“That’s the hell of a thing!” he muttered softly, wondering how he was going to be able to wake his mother up to deliver this devastating piece of news. He need not have worried, because when he shook his mother’s shoulder a little more firmly, he noticed that her entire body moved, as though she were rigid and not merely relaxed in sleep. He bent down and layed a hand on her brow. To his horror, he found that she too was stone dead.
Anthony Armstrong’s first thought was that his mother’s heart had stopped beating at the self-same moment that her husband’s had given up, but even as he entertained this romantic idea, he knew that it was a lot of hooey. The human heart is a physical object, which obeys the laws of nature and when one stops beating, there is usually a practical explanation. So it proved in the present case, because when he bent down to kiss his mother’s forehead, he detected at once the sweet, pungent and unmistakable odour of Laudanum. A brief search of the floor beneath her chair revealed the bottle that Dr Drake had given him earlier that evening. It was perfectly empty.
From the kitchen came the voices of Andrew and Tom. Anthony knew that he would have to decide how much to tell his brothers about this. There was also the question of how to present the situation in the bedroom here to others outside the family circle.
Martha Armstrong had been a God-fearing and devout woman, whose guidance was the Good Book. Yet it was clear as daylight what had happened in the absence of he and his brothers. His father had breathed his last and as soon as she knew it; Martha Armstrong had swallowed the entire contents of the bottle of Laudanum, in the well-founded hope that it would prove a lethal dose. For her to have taken the awful step of self destruction, was to Anthony a sign of how deeply she had loved her husband. Life without him had presented such an appalling prospect, that she had preferred to ignore the teaching of both church and scripture in order to bring her own life to an early close. Well, he for one did not blame her for that. Never the less, there were those who would, and all else apart, there’d be no burying of her in consecrated ground if the minister ever found out that she was a suicide. That in turn would mean that she would not be able to be interred at his father’s side, which was a thing not to be thought of for a moment.
It would only be fitting to tell his brothers this very night about the death of their parents and they too might be a little shocked to think that their own mother had killed herself. Almost without thinking, Anthony slipped the empty physic bottle into his pocket and went downstairs to the kitchen to tell his brothers that their Pa had died and that his wife’s heart must given in at about the same moment. It was a touching little fairy tale which would harm nobody, comfort everybody, and ensure that they could give their mother a fitting burial.
A week later, the joint funerals of Martha Armstrong, her husband Seth and their son Jack were held in Parson’s End. In light of the feud between the Armstrongs and the Doolans, about which every person in town knew, it came as a shock to see that all four of the Doolan children who were living out at the house, were present to pay their respects to Mr and Mrs Armstrong and their boy. It was known in town that Jack Armstrong’s head had somehow become detached from his body, but there was no indication of how this had occurred and Sheriff Bates had been unable to establish the facts of the case. His job had been made no easier by the quiet disposal of the corpses of the four comancheros which the Armstrong and Doolan boys had undertaken together the night after the shootout. All the men had been buried in shallow graves up in the hills, with all identifying marks removed from their belongings.
Later on the same day that the three Armstrongs had been buried, old Michael Doolan was laid to rest in the same burying ground and the Armstrongs attended that service, condoling afterwards with the children of the man whom most in Parson’s End had thought to be their mortal enemy. It was not forgotten that Susan Doolan herself had died violently, nor that young Anthony had unceremoniously dumped two lynched men on Sheriff Bates’ very doorstep. Seven deaths in less than a week was no common occurrence and there were many raised eyebrows. Try as he might, Brewster Bates never quite got to the bottom of the matter, despite having his own suspicions. The story of some mysterious gunman riding out of the night and shooting down Michael Doolan as he stood at the window of his house did not sound a very plausible one to the sheriff. Still, there it was; the Armstrongs and Doolans had seemingly buried the hatchet and backed each other up to the hilt on this tale.
Whether or no, the two families seemed to be on amicable terms now and none of the people living in town felt inclined to ask any questions about the recent events. It was also observed that Anthony, who from his dress looked as though he were contemplating the taking of holy orders, spent a good deal of time after the two funerals, talking to young Katy Doolan.
Two weeks passed and Anthony showed no inclination to return to Massachusetts. Ezra, Joe, Andrew and Tom had, after a decent period of mourning, seemed inclined to team up and work together, rather than against each other. They had always been good friends before their fathers had fallen out and there was now no reason for them not to mend fences.
At breakfast one day, Andrew said casually to his younger brother, “I reckon you’ll be getting back to that fancy school of yours soon?”
Anthony shrugged. “I’m going over to the Doolans this morning. Then we’ll see.”
“You’ll not find Ezra or Joe there,” remarked Tom, “We’re meeting ‘em in town to see about some stock.”
Andrew guffawed at this and said, “He ain’t goin’ for to see the boys, you lunkhead!”
“Well there’s only Katy and Maire there…” Then he caught his brother’s drift and a broad grin split his face. He said, “Don’t tell me you’re courtin’, Anthony?”
A little nettled, Anthony Armstrong muttered something to the effect that it would be a fine thing if folk could just mind their own damned business.
It was late afternoon before Anthony Armstrong rode back from the Doolan place. His brothers and the Doolan boys were still about some business or other involving livestock. Anthony supposed that he would have to find out the ins and outs of it all before much longer. He’d an idea that things could be arranged a good deal better in a business sense if somebody with a little book-learning took a hand in it. Making a living out of horse-stealing was just sheer madness. Not that he proposed to push himself forward, but if the two families, as looked likely, were to work together, then somebody had better take charge of the paperwork-end of the enterprise. He reined in the mare a quarter mile from the house and surveyed the scene tranquilly.
The afternoon sun shone on a pleasing and peaceful vista. It struck Anthony that it was now certain that the two families would be stuck with each other for good or ill. He and Katy Doolan had in the last week or so rekindled the spark between them. That afternoon, he had tentatively voiced his feelings, to find that Katy felt the very same way and had been hoping that Anthony would speak out. Now that he had done so, there was no question of returning to Harvard and it only remained to apprise his brothers of the state of play.
They say that it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good and although the recent weeks had been filled with drama and tragedy, it seemed to Anthony that some good had come out of it all; at least for him personally. He spurred on the mare and rode on to the house. There was a lot to do.
What a lovely “soft” ending Simon, after all the usual violence of the Wild West. Enjoyed.
Reading this made me feel settled. I grew up on Westerns.